


Defeated

by Trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dean, F/M, M/M, Pre-Series, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks Sam goes to college to escape the hunting life. He's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeated

**Author's Note:**

> For Ella, who wanted angst.  
> Unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

John thinks Sam goes to college to escape the hunting life. He's wrong. 

***

"Do you know what kind of ideas you'll give your brother? Huh? What other hunters will say? You look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."

"Yessir."

Sam leans against the hood of the impala and listens to the argument unfold itself from behind the thin motel walls. He had been told to leave as soon as dad got back from his hunt, covered in blood so thick it looked black. Fourteen and still not allowed to be around the adults when they talk. Bullshit. 

"Your skirt chasing, that all a front? Or did they just not want it up the ass?"

Dean's reply is inaudible. 

"Bisexual?" John laughs, and it is an awful sound. There's a crack, the unmistake sound of a clenched fist meeting skin. Sam closes his eyes, tries to control his breathing. "Get out of my sight, ya hear?"

"Yessir."

There's a pause, and then the door opens. Dean steps out, John in silhouette behind him, and he looks wretched. His hands are dug deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. As he gets closer Sam can see a cut under his eye, his cheekbone already swelling around it. 

"Dean-"

Dean swallows hard and forces a smile. "You can go on in, Sammy. I'm going for a walk."

He goes to walk away and Sam slides off the hood of the car, reaches out and grabs his arm. Dean looks at Sam's hand then at his face, eyes pleading. 'Please just let me go,' his eyes say. 

"I'm coming with you."

"Nice try, kiddo, but dad will kill me."

"I don't give two tiny shits who you...whatever...with," Sam says. "I don't. And you're not giving me any ideas that I haven't...I'm not the virginal Boy Scout he thinks I am."

Dean laughs, swipes at his eyes and winces when his hand connects with the cut. "Shit," he hisses. "Socked me good."

"Let's go to the diner, get you cleaned up whilst dad cools down. He'll get over it," Sam says, though he doesn't believe it, "you'll see."

***

John doesn't get over it, and from then on Dean makes a pronounced show of being a womanising douchebag and it sets Sam's teeth on edge for no reason he can understand. 

He takes a barmaid out back and has her pressed up against a wall in the alley, a hand up her skirt and his mouth on her neck, and Sam comes up behind them and clears his throat. 

The girl mewls as Dean's hand moves. "Three's a crowd, baby."

Dean looks over his shoulder and his expression hardens. "Get lost, Sam."

Sam stares at him, at the girl with her head pressed back against the wall, and then turns away. He loiters at the top of the alley until Dean struts up five minutes later. 

"You fuck her?" Sam asks, glowering. All he can see in his head is the pleasure on that girl’s face, and something coils hot and tight in his stomach and it hits him, leaves him breathless. Jealous. He’s jealous.

"Watch your mouth," Dean says. He pulls a battered tin out of his back pocket and produces a joint. He cups his hands around the flame of his lighter, then the lighter is gone and the joint is lit. Tah-dah.

He passes it to Sam who eyes it warily. 

"S'just weed," Dean says, exhaling. "You're sixteen. Fuck it."

Sam takes it between his thumb and forefinger and takes a drag, collapsing in a coughing fit almost immediately. Dean laughs, claps him on the back and takes the joint from him. 

"Jesus. Lightweight."

"Am not," Sam splutters, throat burning. 

"If you say so."

They stand in comfortable silence whilst Dean smokes the joint down to the roach. He flicks it toward the gutter and misses. "We should head back."

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam scuffs his sneakers along the ground for a moment. "Why do you do what you do, with girls?"

Dean raises an eyebrow, plants a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Well, Sammy, when a man and a woman love each other very much-"

Sam shrugs away his hand. "Aw, shut up. You know what I mean."

Dean's silence is stony. 

"I know you're bi, but you never -"

"That's enough, Sam."

"But now it's always girls, and -"

"I said enough!" Dean snaps, his tone one learned from John. "You want a ride back or you want to walk?"

I want you to realise that I’ve always accepted you for who you are, Sam thinks. Why do you need those faceless girls, when you have me? He clenches his jaw and balls his fists, says nothing and follows Dean. 

***

Another day, another hunt, another night spent drinking in the bar near the motel. Dean is flirting relentlessly with the disinterested barmaid and Sam is drunk. 

He started on whisky because it makes Dean look cool, and he thought it would rub off on him. It doesn't, and all it does is get him drunk quicker than any beer ever would. 

He looks at Dean and frowns, narrows his eyes. "Hey," he says. "Hey, Deano."

"Don't call me that."

"Your eyes are...they're so super green. Did you know? You have beautiful eyes."

Dean laughs, but his blush is obvious. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, Slugger, think it's time for bed."

Sam smiles and lets Dean lead him gently out of the bar. "No, really. So green. And your freckles, oh man."

"Sam, stop it."

"No. No. For real." They make it half way across the parking lot before Sam's legs give out on him and he pulls them both down to the asphalt. "Dean," he says, reaching out to map every freckle on his brother's face with his fingers. "Dean."

Dean leans into the touch and closes his eyes. "Quit it," he says, but doesn't mean it. They're close, now, their noses almost brushing. And Sam suddenly understands something but he isn't sure what it is.

"I love you, Dean," Sam says with as much meaning as he can manage. 

Dean cups Sam's face and smiles weakly. "Love you too, man. Even if you’ve always been a lightweight." He makes a move to get up.

"No," Sam says, grabbing Dean's hand and kissing the inside of his wrist. "No. I love you. I've. It's always been you, man. I just didn't. I didn't know. And if you don't want anything to do with me then fine. But I had to...you needed to know."

The colour drains from Dean's face and his eyes flick back and forth over Sam's features. "You're drunk," he says.

"Yeah but not so much that I...I know what I'm saying, okay? I know. What. I need you," Sam balls a fist in the front of Dean's shirt and pulls him closer. "Please, I need you. Only you. Always you."

When Dean finally looks at Sam it's with tears in his eyes, unshed and glistening in the streetlights of the parking lot. "Sammy," he says, pushing away the hair that has fallen into Sam's eyes. "We're...you're my brother. You’re seventeen – you don’t know what you want."

Sam wonders if this speech is something similar to what John gave Dean when he found out about the boys. He goes to speak but Dean puts a finger over his lips.

"You're my brother. And I love you. More than. More than I should, more than you know." His voice breaks and he looks away. "But we can't do this. Don't make me say no to you, Sammy, but we can't."

Sam’s breathing hitches. He feels choked, like the air is too thin. He shakes his head, tears he didn’t realise had gathered rolling down his cheeks. “Please. Please.”

Dean gets up, pulling himself away from Sam. “I have to go,” he says, shaking his head as he walks backwards. “I have to-” he trails off, turning around and stumbling across the parking lot.

Tears burn hot and angry at the back of Sam’s throat and he bites his fist, keening. When he manages to get to his feet it’s only to stagger back to the bar. They won’t serve him, and he picks a fight with the bartender. He’s about to take a swing when a heavy hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Sam,” John says, voice cold. “You come with me or I’ll call the cops.”

It’s an empty threat, but Sam lets his dad guide him out of the bar. 

“Your brother told me you were here.”

Sam laughs.

“Said you were upset about something. Son, this isn’t how to deal with your demons.”

Sam keeps laughing. “Oh,” he says, “oh that’s precious coming from you. You’re just sobriety’s poster boy, ain’t you?” He’s playing with fire, doesn’t know why he does it. John gives him a level stare and Sam raises an eyebrow, challenging him. “What? Going to punish me?”

John clenches his jaw and huffs out a laugh. “You go back to your motel room and you wake up at four in the morning and we hit the road. The hangover you’re going to have is punishment enough.”

***

John was right. Sam wakes up feeling like he has been hit by a bus. He glances over at the closed bathroom door. Dean never used to close the door. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and Sam knows then that this can’t be it. It can’t be. 

College, his high school teachers used to say to him. “You could be anything you want to be.”

He tests out the weight of the decision in his mind, closes his eyes against the press of his headache. 

Sam knows then for certain. He’s leaving.

***

Stanford. And finally, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Flickering lights, cold spots, sulphur. None of that matters. Or so Sam tells himself, as he sleeps with a flask of holy water and a knife within easy reach.

And Jessica, she’s so beautiful. Her eyes are so, so green, and she has a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that Sam loves to trace. And fuck, Sam hates himself more than he has ever hated anything. 

Jessica doesn’t ask him for anything he can’t give. “I had my heart broken,” he says. “I can’t-”

And Jessica just kissed him gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not asking anything of you.”

Then Dean shows up. 

Jess asks, "Who's this?"

And Sam says, "This is Dean."

And Dean says, "Sam's boyfriend."

Jess looks back and forth between them, expression unreadable. She laughs after a moment, "Okay. I don't get the joke but okay. I'm going back to bed." She stands on her tiptoes to kiss Sam's cheek. Dean stares at her ass as she leaves. 

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Dad's not been home in a few days."

"That's not what I meant."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "So. You're taking issue with me saying something you always wanted to hear? Not with the fact that dad is missing?"

"Dad will be drunk on the ground behind a bar. Jess is my girlfriend, Dean. You don't get to do this to me."

Dean holds up his hands. Submission. "I need your help. Not for long. Just to find him and bring him back."

Sam eyes him warily. "It's been four years."

"Yeah, well. You left. I figured you didn't want to hear from me." Dean heads for the door. "I'll wait for you in the car."

***

Sam tells Jess enough truth mixed with lies for her to not be suspicious and for him not to feel guilty. The door of the impala groans when he opens it, and the smell of the leather seats and oil is the smell of coming home. 

He tips his head back, eyes closed. When he opens them Dean is watching him closely. "What?"

Dean shrugs. "Nothing. You've grown up."

"Yeah." Sam shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. 

They drive into the night, streetlights washing over them and ACDC playing in the background whilst Sam leafs through what research Dean has managed to pull together. 

"I didn't know what to do," Dean tells the road ahead of them. 

"Huh?"

"Before. When. Before you left. I didn't know what to do. I still don't."

Sam looks down at the papers in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, his entire face feeling like it's on fire. 

"Well, I do. Fuck, Sammy. I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left. Before that, even. Before the parking lot."

Sam frowns when Dean pulls the impala down an off ramp and into a motel. 

"I'm beat," he says, killing the engine. 

Sam looks at Dean, then. Really looks. The past four years have been kind to him, chiselling his cheekbones and jawline even more. Sam doesn't know how he could have ever forgotten those green eyes, the freckles, those lips.

Before he knows it he is closing the distance between them on the bench seat, grabbing Dean's face in both hands and kissing him hard. Dean makes a noise of surprise but relents, kisses back eventually. 

Sam drops his hands to Dean's jacket and pushes him back against the door as he deepens the kiss. Dean's tongue meets his, and Sam moans lowly. 

Dean breaks away first, breathless and eyes dark. "Stop. Stop. I can't do this."

"Can't or won't?"

"It's incest, Sam. You're my brother, for fucks sake."

Sam sits back in the passenger seat. The word stings, incest, he feels sick. "Did you only just realise that? Dean, I love you. I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not a day goes by when I don't think about you. I picked a fucking girlfriend who looks like you, for god's sake. What do you want from me? Nobody has to know, okay? If that's what you're-" he finds himself cut off when Dean launches himself across the seat and kisses him roughly. 

"God," Dean mutters against his lips, "shut up. I love you but fuck, you're a talker. Are you this chatty in bed?"

Sam's face goes hot. "Guess you'll have to find out," he says. And Dean kisses him like it's a challenge. 

Fin


End file.
